


Rout

by FlorentineQuill



Category: Maleficent (2014)
Genre: Crack Fic, F/M, Gen, Nothing horrible, and diaval, but mostly maleficent, kinda sorta, some violence discussed, those poor soldiers who had to try and fight maleficent, wounds mentioned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-21
Updated: 2015-03-21
Packaged: 2018-03-18 21:05:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3583935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlorentineQuill/pseuds/FlorentineQuill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The soldiers unfortunate enough to encounter Maleficent limp home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rout

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bemusedlybespectacled (ardentintoxication)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ardentintoxication/gifts).



The company of soldiers let out a collective sigh of relief when they broke through the trees, and open fields greeted them. The road was visible. Tired men and horses found a little bit of energy, and their speed picked up to not-quite marching. One soldier, Bern, glanced back over his shoulder at the trees and their outstretched shadows. “Good riddance and bad luck,” he muttered, spitting to one side of the worn forest path. He shifted his pack in an attempt to avoid the worst of the bruises, and stretched his legs to keep pace with the wagon of men who had been less lucky in battle.

_If it could be called that. A fecking rout, more like,_ he thought, scratching at his beard.

“Penny for your thoughts, Bern?”

Bern looked up to see one of the soldiers, John, watching him through half-shut eyes. He was propped up against the wagon’s high side, head turned to watch Bern. His left leg was stretched out in front of him, tightly bound to make-shift splints of forest wood. His arm on the same side was also splinted, tucked close to his body with a sling that had probably been a horse-blanket, from the smell.

“Nothing worth sharing,” Bern replied. “How long do you think it’ll take us to reach the barracks?”

John squinted at the sun, and the road they hadn’t yet reached. “Two, three days,” he guessed. He shifted his weight, only to freeze. He didn’t make a sound, but his face turned an interesting shade of puce. “Depends on whether we keep on after dark,” he said after a moment, teeth clenched.

“Well, we’re out of that damn forest,” Bern replied. “I feel safer already. Not like that wingless witch ever follows anyone once they’re out, eh?”

“Bite your tongue,” John hissed. “I've heard tales where those things in the Moors hear whispers on the wind.”

Bern wanted to laugh, but it died in his throat. He fingered his sword’s pommel, heavy and reassuring. “Think that’s how she found us?” he asked.

John waggled his head side-to-side. “Don’t know. Of course, my idiot partner was the one who thought a _tiny, peasant girl_ matched the description of her Dark Majesty.” He raised his voice, glaring at another man in the wagon. He was out of Bern’s sight, probably laid out on the wagon floor. “I don’t know, Derek!" He continued, voice edging towards hysteria. "She didn’t exactly seem to have those _fecking, great horns_ , did she?”

A hand shot up into view, fingers folded so that the first two fingers formed a V-shape, with the knuckles aimed at John. “Shaddup, John!" snapped a rasping voice. “You didn’t exactly say anything either. Not until you were screaming like a little girl, getting flung about.”

Bern rapped his knuckles on the side of the wagon. “Oi, she was flinging everyone about,” he said, raising his voice. “Name anyone without an aching head, I dare you.”

Derek didn’t reply, and everything was silent except for the wagon creaking, and the horses blowing noisy, put-upon sighs for several minutes before another man spoke up. “Thought I cracked my skull,” he said. “Ended up hanging in on of the trees, near where she left.”

There was no doubt as to who he was talking about. Everyone turned their attention to the new man, who did have a ragged-looking bandage wrapped around his head. He looked green about the face, eyes fixed on some middle distance above everyone’s heads. After a moment, Derek’s hand came back into view and tugged on the man’s trews. “You don’t just toss something like that out in the air and leave us hanging, Erik.”

“Mmph,” Erik grunted. “Shut up, unless you want me to aim for your ugly face if I spew.”

Derek’s hand dropped, and Bern chuckled as he listened to the sounds of hurried shuffling along the wagon bed. By the time Derek had resettled himself, Erik was looking a little less green and a little more talkative. “Heard her talking, to that wolf beast of hers,” he said. “Only it wasn’t a wolf anymore.”

“Not a wolf?” Bern asked warily. “What the hell did it turn into, then?”

“A person,” Erik said. “And he weren’t too happy. They were arguing, last I heard before passing out.”

John and Bern shared a wide-eyed look. “Arguing?” John repeated. “What do you mean, arguing? She’s…” He waved a hand, and everyone listening nodded. Beautiful, in that sharpish, fae way. Terrifying, enough that lots were drawn to see who would patrol the thorn border where she prowled. Deadly, bringing green-tinged oblivion to those who tried to attack her. And, until today, silent in battle.

“What were they arguing about?” Bern pressed. “What—What did he say? What did _she_ say?”

Erik shrugged. “Arguing. He didn’t like being a dog.” He frowned, thinking. “He…really didn’t like it. She said it was a wolf.”

“Sure as hell didn’t look like one,” John said. “Certainly had enough teeth for a wolf, though. Fecking thing caught my leg, dragged me away from the horses.”

Several of the other wounded men nodded their agreement. “Great big beak, instead of a muzzle,” someone else offered.

“Whatever it was, he didn’t like it,” Erik said, doggedly. “I passed out, but he seemed ready to rant about it for an hour.”

“Merciful gods save us,” Derek said. “What kind of fae is _he,_ that he can speak to her like that?”

Bern shook his head, and the wagon turned onto the main road that led back to the castle, with their barracks and healers. “Don’t matter,” he said shortly. “All I know is that with so many of us out of the fight, our next assignment won’t put anywhere close to the thorn border.”

The others agreed, and turned their conversations homeward.

**Author's Note:**

> bemusedlybespectacled is a terrible influence and you have her to thank for this. And the whole start of that particular "battle" in the film. Because tiny Aurora is far from tall, imposing Maleficent xD
> 
> The backwards V-for-victory is the British equivalent of raising the middle finger. I thought it more appropriate since they're ostensibly a European fantasy kingdom.


End file.
